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C Rosser
Poems
Jun 2010
So what does the paper think?
Shadows of darkness on parchment clean.
Scratched , inflicted as creation storms in.
Build, dream and see in the black marks
on my formerly pure, etiolated skin.
Play with the words, hide and then seek
me out again as I wait for you to ravage me.
Paint your voice on, I am your palette.
Make me beautiful with your cruel barbs of whim.
Copyright C Rosser
Written by
C Rosser
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